Simon Marsh

I’M A RICH MAN, Bill told me, when I visited him in hospital just before Christmas. And he wasn’t talking about his bank balance. Bill was one of those delightfully down to earth Christian men who appreciated “life in all its fullness”. The riches that Bill spoke of included his wife, family and friends, and more interests than one could write a book about. Perfectly aware that a heart condition “numbered his days”, Bill was tucking into a hearty lunch with enthusiasm, told me one of the funniest jokes of my year, and promised me that he’d be in Church for Christmas. He was. With another funny joke. But he went to bed, at home, a couple of days later, and read the Collect, Epistle and Gospel for the Feast of St John the Evangelist in the little St Swithun’s Prayer Book he’d bought as a 17 year old lad back home in Belfast …

From the Epistle: We declare to you what was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands … 1 John 1

 

Bill died, peacefully, that evening. Today the parish church he loved was filled. Filled with representatives from other branches of the Christian Church; filled with friends from near and far; filled with representatives of a range of interests, loves and concerns that were testimony to the warm and generous measure of the man. Michael the Archangel was close at hand. Tears and tales were shared, together with a good lunch and “the sound of Irish laughter” in the air. I had the sense that Bill would have been both surprised and proud. But he’d been right as we chatted in the hospital before Christmas. Bill was a rich man. A Christian man. I shall remember his example. RIP. x